


The Queen of Tarts

by lalakate



Series: In The Company of Strangers [2]
Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: F/M, Family, In the Company of Strangers, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-21
Updated: 2018-01-21
Packaged: 2019-03-07 11:32:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13433853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lalakate/pseuds/lalakate
Summary: Mary discovers Charles and George up to no good.





	The Queen of Tarts

**Author's Note:**

> This one-shot is set in Strangers verse, just a few weeks before Mary & Charles's wedding. I do hope you enjoy it!

They were discovered in the midst a copse of trees a good distance from the estate, huddled together like conspirators in hiding from certain retribution. One was lounging blissfully upon a blanket, shirt unbuttoned and sleeves rolled up, his eyes remaining fixed on his most willing accomplice. His companion was topless and barefoot, unashamedly laughing in such a state of undress, completely oblivious to the fact that they were being observed.

The absolute nerve.

Had they no shame? Here? In broad daylight? Another giggle rode the breeze flippantly, almost announcing their brazen behavior with pride to anyone daring enough to question them. He stood languidly and stretched, the unmistakable movements of a man quite content with what had just transpired away from watchful eyes.

"Just what do you think you are doing?"

The question drew his attention quickly, and his face turned towards hers, dimples flashing in self-satisfaction.

"Why don't you come and find out?"

Her brow shot up in challenge, but she stood her ground.

"I'm not that kind of girl, Charles. You should know that by now."

His chuckle was anticipated yet still effective. It was quite unfair that he could unravel her ire with such ease and confidence, no trace of doubt etched on his brow.

"I know exactly what kind of girl you, Mary Crawley. You just refuse to admit it sometimes."

"Hmmm."

The squeal of another bade her move closer as the half-dressed figure of her son ran towards her on legs moving with unexpected speed considering their short, pudgy stature. She scooped him up, wiping crumbs from his face and curls as her stare hardened.

"He's filthy."

Another chuckle.

"That's what baths are for, you know."

She threw him an exaggerated eye toss, shaking her head at this entire situation.

"But he's already had a bath today. If you remember, there is a party being held tonight which just so happens to be in our honor."

"How could I forget?"

He moved in closer, dropping his voice deliberately, awaiting a reaction as she fired another shot.

"You're quite a mess, as well. Do you intend to greet our guests with dirt caked on your elbows?"

His shrug only irritated her further.

"Well, I will be wearing a jacket. No one will know the difference."

Her eyes began to simmer, and he could not help but grin at the slight twitch flickering at the corners of her mouth.

"His dinner is all but ruined, you realize. Just where did you procure all of those biscuits anyway?"

He pursed his lips together, rocking back and forth on his heels as he mulled over his answer.

"From Mrs. Patmore."

Her eyes widened in disbelief.

"You honestly expect me to believe that Mrs. Patmore willingly indulged the two of you with a tin full of biscuits for an impromptu picnic when dinner will be served in less than two hours?"

"What can I say? She likes me."

A sound of incredulity escaped her.

"So you've been unleashing your inflated sense of charm on our cook to your own advantage?"

"That's a rather harsh way of putting it, Mary."

He flashed her the expression of an errant boy, mirrored perfectly in the chubby cheeks of her son smiling up at her with the sated satisfaction of a child stuffed with sweets.

"If he becomes ill later, I'll make certain you get the privilege of cleaning it up."

He laughed in earnest at the impact of her jab.

"I would expect nothing less."

Leisurely feet began their journey back to the Abbey, Mary carefully keeping her focus straight ahead and away from dark eyes that all too often had their way with her.

"We saved some for you."

Silence.

"Mrs. Patmore assured me that they were your favorite, you understand."

"So you've not only been pilfering from the kitchen, flirting with the cook, and sneaking a toddler out of the nursery, but now you are prying into my personal affairs? Is nothing beneath you, Charles?"

"You're not, unfortunately," he breathed suggestively into her ear.

The sheer cheek of this man!

"And if you continue with such rambunctious behavior I can assure that I won't be for some time."

That blasted chuckle again.

"So do you want some?"

She stopped, rounding on him in amazement.

"Did you not just hear what I said?"

"Biscuits, Mary," he clarified all too smoothly. "Do you want some biscuits?"

"Perhaps you should drag your mind out of the biscuit tin and back to the reality of this dinner party, Charles."

"But this biscuit tin is much more enticing. You should try it more often."

Her brow issued him a challenge.

"If you keep this up, I may just send you straight to bed without any supper."

"Is that a promise?"

Touché.

George then clapped his hands, cutting off her reply by reaching towards the remaining treats in an effort to claim one for himself.

"You have had quite enough, it would seem," she rebuked softly, clasping his hands in her own much to the boy's chagrin.

"Wasn't it an apple tart?"

Her astonished gaze found his quickly.

"Excuse me?"

"That Carson caught you eating under the table when you were a little girl," he continued. "It was an apple tart, wasn't it?"

"Did Mrs. Patmore tell you this, as well?" she demanded, her cheeks flushing slightly as her feet resumed their path.

"No. Carson did."

"He wouldn't do that to me."

Her tone was adamant.

"Well, to give him credit, he didn't exactly share that information with me personally," he admitted all too willingly. "He was actually speaking to George. I just happened to be holding him at the time."

She sighed heavily, knowing herself to be both surrounded and outnumbered.

"Give it to me."

She felt his grin behind her back.

"What's that?"

He was enjoying himself entirely too much.

"The biscuit, Charles. Give me the biscuit."

"Why Lady Mary," he gasped in feigned horror. "Are you sure your mother would approve?"

"I'm certain that you will not approve of my reaction if you refuse to hand it over."

He then touched her arm, turning her towards him directly as he stepped in close.

"You know I can never refuse you anything."

His sincerity melted what was left of her resistance, just as it continually had done over the past several months.

"You do realize that I fully intend to use that fact to my advantage?"

Her words stroked his skin, and he drew them both close, the wondrous miracle of this woman and child still overwhelming to him.

"I'm counting on it."

He kissed her gently, stroking her lips with brush-like caresses that left her wanting more.

"If that was an attempt to distract me from the fact that you have not yet given me my biscuit, you failed miserably."

He smiled in satisfaction.

"I suppose I shall just have to try again."

A wave of contentment washed over her, and she breathed him in with greedy lungs.

"Not now. You do remember that we have George with us?"

"How could I ever forget George? We have a bath to see to upon our return."

As if on cue, the child threw his arms out in Charles's direction, a summons he was more than happy to answer affirmatively.

"He has a nanny, you know," she tossed back pertly, "And a quite capable one, at that."

"But she doesn't use the soap to create bubbles."

She shook her head yet again.

"Why does this not surprise me?"

He saw the tinge of a smile on her lips, one she was attempting to suppress in spite of herself.

"Would you like me to draw one for you as well?"

Her mouth drew up on one side, the glimmer in her eye promising more held in trust for a later discussion.

"Just hand over the biscuit," she commanded demurely. "And if you tell my mother, I'll have your hide."


End file.
